Catherine Nicolette;
Beauty of Ireland
Often I wander through the Irish countryside, or walk through the villages looking at the incredible gardens. The beauty of Ireland, with its green and wooded paths, the glowing flowers, the sparkling drops on a shy spider's web, never ceases to enchant me.
I love nature, that beautiful creation of God.
Well; that brings me to my story. When I was about nine years old, and my brother about seven and a half in age, we used to walk home together every day from school.
I adored my brother, and loved to listen to his stories about what was happening in his class.
Together we came up with a plan; every day to show our mom our love for her, we would pick a bunch of flowers.
I rather think my brother came up with the suggestion, and I immediately fell in with it. It was a great idea.
Discussed at length
We discussed this plan at great length on the walks to and from school. Where would we get the flowers? Only the best ones would be good enough for Mom.
And so, for a year, we used to arrive home every day, each with a bouquet of flowers which we had carefully picked from the gardens as we passed.
We scrutinised each garden carefully, and only chose flowers from the most beautiful ones.
We had a name for each garden; the very best was on the right hand side, halfway down the road. I called it the 'Morning glory waterfall', the reason being that one entire garden wall was covered in ivy green Morning glory leaves with the largest Morning glory blossoms of deep hues of lilac through to deepest purple. It was magnificent.
The grass of the garden was a thick felt green carpet (almost impossible to achieve in the broiling South African sun) and best of all, beautiful flowers of every hue glowed everywhere.
We used to decide as we went along which were the best blooms of the day.
The only garden which daily came up to our exacting standards, and from which we picked every single day was from the Morning glory waterfall house.
Waterford crystal vase
Mom used to cry out, "Where did you get these lovely flowers?" as she carefully placed them in water in her Waterford crystal vase she had saved from her time in Ireland with Dad; one of the few pieces of crystal we kids had managed not to smash as we made our way through boisterous childhood.
"Oh, we picked them along the way," we would always tell her, and then escape either outdoors to play, or to do our school homework.
One day my brother and I went into the garden to pick the flowers.
There was a magnificent bush with the most exquisite and fragranced pink roses, complete with golden stamens which shimmered in the sunlight.
As I neared the bush, I heard "Aha! So now I've caught the vandals!" and a heavy hand came down from behind on my shoulder.
I was thrilled. I did not know what the word vandals meant.
I turned around and faced a glowering house owner. My brother and I smiled happily at him.
"Oh, so you're the owner of this wonderful garden, " I said. "We're so glad to meet you. "
The owner was taken aback, and removed his hand from my shoulder. "Why?" he asked me nonplussed. "Well," I said, "We pick flowers for our Mom who we love very much, every day.
We pick flowers from some of the gardens; and there is one garden where we often pick from - the garden over there..." and we pointed to a garden about a quarter way up the street.
"Yes," my brother chimed in, "they often have nice flowers, but not quite as nice as yours. In fact," he said, "the flowers weren't up to standard at all last week. So we didn't pick any. We call yours the best garden, and that the second best garden."
Unusual look
The garden owner had an unusual look on his face.
I carried on sunnily, my hands clasped worshipfully around the flowers we had already cut.
"Yours is the only garden which is good enough to cut flowers from everyday. It's the best garden in the street."
The man's face was a study. "You were going to pick my pink roses," he ventured. "What do you think of them?"
I touched my finger reverently towards the satin petals of the glowing goddess roses. "They are just about the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen, "I breathed reverently.
"They were calling to me across the street to come and pick them, they are so beautiful. They are without a doubt the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen growing in this garden."
The garden owner then said to us: "Children, usually people don't go into other people's gardens and pick flowers because it is considered their property. "
My brother and I were perplexed, and very upset. "We are very sorry, sir, we won't do it again," we promised.
"No," he said, "It's alright. You come and pick flowers from my garden every day for your mother, and give them to her with my compliments. Tell her you children have an eye for good flowers.
Just one thing; I grow roses for the Flower competition, and the roses you were looking at are my prize roses I am growing for it. Please don't cut those."
We agreed, of course, and went on our way.
Prize blooms
We never cut roses from the bush, but I used to look up close at them and breathe in their scent. We brought a wonderful bunch of flowers home daily until we moved from that area.
Years later I heard that the owner was an accredited horticulturist, who used to grow blooms and enter them in for fierce competitions. The owner of the garden won an award for outstanding roses for the blooms we had loved for their radiance and beauty, and his deadly rival in the horticultural stakes - the owner of the second best garden - trailed in miserably behind...
I always remember the Garden Owner of Morning Glory Waterfall house when I wander through the gracious beauty of Ireland.
*Photograph taken by Catherine Nicolette. Please feel free to use copyright free for any worthy purpose
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